


Sleight Of Hand

by GenociderJunko



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, M/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, Ryden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5116568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenociderJunko/pseuds/GenociderJunko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective AU.<br/>Detective Brendon Urie is called to Las Vegas to work on a case. There he meets his new partner, Detective Ryan Ross. Together they're encountering their most gruesome case yet. Will they be able to outsmart the magician behind it all, or will they become his final act? (I swear the fic isn't as cheesy as the summary pls just read it the ryden is oof af)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Finding Pills and Grabbing Coffee

Brendon locks the door quickly behind him, hoping no one saw him dash in here, even though that's not something he should be worrying about, because it is a party and it is normal for people to be rushing into a bathroom.

He looks at himself in the mirror, his black lace mask resting on his pale nose. He's wearing a collared shirt with puffy sleeves that have straps on them, and a vest on top. His pinstripe pants are starting to ride up; he adjusts them and fixes the tuck of his shirt. Undercover at a masquerade, this is a first. 

 

Time to get to work.

 

Brendon checks the shower first, making sure no one is sleeping in the tub and then opening bottles of shampoo and body wash and conditioner and acne scrub to see if there were any contents that should not be in the plastic bottles. He lifts the bath mat and small carpet on the bathroom floor to make sure they hide nothing. His fancy shoes click against the tiled floor as he shuffles around and works.

 

Next he checks the medicine cabinet, opening every bottle of pills and perfume and makeup (getting his fingers dirty) and peers in as he moves quickly and with precision. The cabinet is clean.

 

He lifts the rear lid of the toilet, swirling the water around a moment to make sure there isn't anything he can't see, and checks the lid itself quickly before closing it.

 

He makes sure to thoroughly scrub his hands after touching toilet water because  _ew_  and then returns to his search. 

 

He makes sure the pomade sitting on the sink is empty before dropping to his knees and opening the cupboard underneath the sink.

 

He jolts at a knock on the door.

 

"C'mon man, people need to piss!"

 

Brendon regains composure before replying, "Sorry, I'll just be a minute!"

 

"Well hurry up!"

 

Brendon hurries up.

 

Toothpaste, he kneads his thumbs along the tube, bleach, screws open the cap and swirls it a bit while peering into it, dental floss, takes it apart to check and then reassembles it. 

 

He's about to give up his search because there's another knock at the door.

 

"Come ON, man! I'm about to piss right outside here!"

 

"That's not needed!" Brendon hurriedly says as he springs up to remove the plug from the sink and shine his flashlight down the pipes.

 

Brendon goes through his mental checklist and almost slaps himself at his obvious forgetfulness.

 

Only two more options.

 

He jiggles the grate for the air vent a little before it springs loose and Brendon once again shines his flashlight around before he frowns.

 

Only one more option, then.

 

The man on the other side of the door is banging incessantly, and Brendon worries he'll actually kick down the door.

 

He plants his ass firmly on the bathroom carpet, reaches behind him to clamp on the cabinet frame, and maneuvers himself under the sink.

Bingo. 

 

Taped to the inner frame of the cabinet is a pill. Its shell is clear, the inside containing small grey granules with black flecks that sparkle in the light of Brendon's flashlight. And he can see it, a ripple in the tape the same size directly next to it, and Brendon knows there was another. 

 

Brendon snaps on his latex glove and pulls out his phone. 

 

He snaps a photo, using the flashlight as a proper lighting, and carefully removes the pill from the frame with his gloved hand, slipping it into an evidence bag from his backpack. 

 

Brendon pushes a button on his phone and waits.

 

"Detective?" a tinny voice asks.

 

"It's her."

 

Suddenly there's sirens screaming everywhere, and Brendon is relieved and wants to laugh when the knocking stops.

 

 

~

 

 

"Victoria Asher, you are under arrest for murder, arson, and will be interrogated with the suspicion of plans for another murder. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law," Brendon loses interest in what Greenwood is saying to the woman with dark hair and a peacock-colored mask and turns back to Mulligan.

 

"As I was saying, Detective, you're great. You're the best we've got. The state noticed this and now you're going to work on a case in Vegas. Dead prostitute."

 

Brendon raises a skeptical eyebrow. "But Boss, doesn't Vegas have, like, one case of them a day? What's the difference between this and all the others?"

 

Mulligan sighs. "You'll see.  They had the BAU take a look, says it's most likely gonna happen again. But believe me, you're in for quite the sight."

 

Brendon doesn't like the sound of that.

 

Mulligan gives Brendon a sympathetic slap to the back and grumbles, "Get some rest, you're leaving first thing in the morning. We have everything booked for you. You'll be asking around there for Ross." And with that, Mulligan leaves. 

 

Brendon gives a resigned sigh and accepts coffee from one of the interns that tagged along with a bag of donuts, a stack of cups, and a pot of coffee, still steaming. He takes a sip and walks to his car.


	2. Rental Cars and Hotel Glitter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thought id leave my tumblr url:  
> witchymusic.tumblr.com  
> this chapter rlly isnt great but the pace definitely picks up in the next chapter so do not fret friends

The next day, Brendon finds himself sipping coffee on a comfy seat while everybody else sleeps. He's mulling over the case file, contemplating some aspects of the murder.

It all took place in a fancy hotel, the Luxor, and Brendon already has a feeling why Mulligan said it would be a sight.

A prostitute, blonde, age 22, Greta Salpeter was identified as the victim. The killer treated the both of them to a high-end setting for the woman's next job. He paid in cash, and the two left for the room at approximately 23:47, Tuesday, June 30th. The case file stated the two entered the room at 23:51, and the man had kept his head down and out of sight of the security cameras as they entered. No camera caught his face in the entire casino, but he was said to be wearing a leather jacket and pants with a chain.

The case file goes onto a pure assumption that the murder took place around midnight, and then it stops.

_That's not typical_ , Brendon thinks as he reads what the file says under Death. "Classified. Those who are present at the crime scene will be given information to maintain security," Brendon mumbles as he reads quietly.

That's new, Brendon's never seen that before. How bad must it be?

Brendon places the case overview back in the folder and flips through the papers, searching for Polaroids.

There's only snaps of the door and its number, the keycard on the bedside table, and the victim's champagne-colored, holographic type of shiny, strapped high heels strewn on the floor with a silver skirt lying in a ring.

As Brendon is slipping the Polaroids back to their place under their paper clip, he has a visual of the girl probably showing off, slipping out of her shoes and sliding her thumbs under her waistband, dragging the skirt down her legs slowly, letting it drop. He grimaces.

Brendon finds nothing else interesting and closes the case file. He almost chuckles at the cliché red stamp of CLASSIFIED thrown onto the front of the cream folder. Brendon picks up his coffee from his cupholder and takes a sip. He takes his mp3 player out of his backpack and plugs in his earbuds, leaning back, closing his eyes and taking another sip of coffee.

~

Brendon is wearing sunglasses almost the very second he steps outside of the airport and past the tinted doors with ENTRANCE TO FREMONT ST SOUTH spread across the dark glass. Brendon is dragging a suitcase and has a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. His backpack contains all he's ever needed on cases and it bounces around on his back as he giddily waves down a cab.

"Hi, can you take me to the car rental place, please!" he says with a happiness he can't contain because he is in Las Fucking Vegas. The place where Elvis lurks in secret, where magicians reside, where there are slot machines in airports, where people scurry off to get married, where there is never enough neon lights, where prostitutes die, and then suddenly Brendon isn't smiling anymore.

He swallows and looks out the window to watch the buildings whoosh by. The cab is driving away from all the attractions, and Brendon can just barely catch a glimpse of a hotel before it dips beneath the horizon and they're quickly driving away from the quick stretch of suburbs too.

It's not too long before the cab drops him off at a building in the middle of almost nowhere, desert lining the horizon in all directions.

~

After waiting in line for what felt like forever, Brendon finally has his rental car keys. He looks down at them and reads "M17" and searches for whatever car Mulligan reserved for him.

It's a Toyota, but it's new, dark red, and pretty. Brendon smiles and silently thanks Mulligan.

He opens the trunk with a flourish and tosses his duffle bag and suitcase inside. He closes it with just as much of a flourish, and unlocks the car, trying to hold in his excitement. He gets in and the smell of new car hits him. Brendon closes his eyes and savors it, breathing it in. He takes out his phone and texts Mulligan.

" _surprised you actually picked out a nice car"_

_"I'm good with these things, surprisingly, Urie. You got there safe?"_

_"yep. ill keep you updated boss"_

"Thanks."

Brendon puts the key in the ignition and drives out of the garage, getting a map from the glove compartment and trying to get his bearings at the traffic light. 

"It's... that way," Brendon points to the giant mass of buildings springing from the otherwise empty ground. He drives.

~

Parking is a nightmare, but as Brendon steps into the hotel, a whoosh of air conditioning making him thank any god there was for mechanical cooling, he forgets all about the labyrinthine parking lot. He can barely hold in the gasp of wonder he makes when he takes in the hotel.

There's a bubblegum remix of The Killers blasting through the speakers and Brendon is just looking up the entire time in wonder at the pyramid hotel. There's a large monolith ahead of him and it looks like there's a village in the center of the huge floor. He gulps at the sheer size, and walks toward check in.

~

"Reservation for Urie," Brendon says with a smile.

"Brendon?" the suited lady asks, eyes not leaving the computer screen.

"Yes, ma'am."

"The computer is asking me to check your identification and badge, sir." Her eyes leave the screen for the first time, icy blue with a piercing gaze. Brendon quickly digs his badge out of his pocket and flashes it to her.

"Alright sir, you're going to be in room 1337. Here is your set of room keys, and some coupons. I recommend the Criss Angel show and our Mexican food. Have a nice night and enjoy your stay here, sir."

The lady gives Brendon a smile and a nod as he thanks her and leaves. Brendon treks through the casino floor, mesmerized by all the lights from the slot machines and the color of the felt tables. He finds the brigade of elevators and pushes the button. And he waits.

~

Brendon enters his hotel room, almost dropping the room key twice, and barely even gives the room a once over before he tosses his suitcase and duffel bag on the bed and leaves, pulling out his phone to text Mulligan again.

" _which room is the scene at"_

_"1342. Ross should be there now."_

_"thanks"_

He's grateful that there's almost no walk to the room, only five doors away. The door is shut, and Brendon has to psych himself up to knock on the door. The door opens barely an inch and Brendon can see someone's eye peering through the crack.

"Hi, I'm Detective Brendon Urie, from Chicago."

The door opens all the way.

"Detective Ryan Ross. Call me Ryan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave feedback and let me know what u think !! if u look hard enough u can see as the story progresses how my writing style changes over the many years i took writing this.


	3. Ryan Ross and Green Eyeshadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -this is where the graphic depictions of violence tag is applied; theres a lot of murder description so be warned-  
> its not much tbh so sorry for that. i didnt really plan to upload it rn but i felt bad about not uploading for so long so i cut this chapter short. the next one sHould be longer, i need to reconfigure some gobbledygook. (yes, gobbledygook. dont judge) as of right now im shooting for the weekend for the next chapter to upload but tbh i cant promise anything. oh well; enjoy!!

He has brown hair and a button nose and pinstriped pants with a simple pale blue collared shirt and tie. They shake hands.

 

"Prepare your eyes, it's a pretty gruesome sight." Brendon believes him, and steps in.

 

The first thing he notices is the large spray of blood across the wall, splattered in an arc. Then he notices the clothes on the floor next to the bed, just like the Polaroids he'd seen. And then he reluctantly looks at the body against the wall with long, curly tendrils of blonde hair.

 

At first Brendon thinks she's slumped against the wall, but then realizes she's stuck to it.

 

Knives are placed at every limb of her naked body, a gruesome crucifixion that had to have been painful.

 

There's duct tape on her face, covering her mouth, and her eyes are glassed over and empty, an expression of terror still on her face. Brendon sighs, and snaps on his gloves.

 

"We've gotten our shots, you can touch the body. No prints were found anywhere except hers, not even on her skin, considering she is a prostitute. We believe it was leather gloves." Ryan speaks with a sort of careful precision, as if he thinks over every sentence for a moment before speaking. It's entrancing. Brendon nods.

 

He steps carefully around where another knife is resting on the ground, clean of blood.

 

The first thing Brendon does is gently move the woman's hair, pushing it out of her face and tugging it from where it got caught in the wounds on her shoulders. He notes the emerald sparkly eye shadow covering her entire eyelids. He takes a good look at her blue-eyed face and then he attempts to gently remove the duct tape. He pauses, looking to Ryan.

 

"May I?" Ryan nods.

 

"While we didn't find any prints, he did have a few surfaces wiped clean. The door and its handle, the window sill, the phone, a few small areas on scattered surfaces. Talk about cautious."

 

While Ryan is talking, Brendon places a hand on the woman's cheek to steady his grip, and tugs the tape off as gently as he can, knowing that even though she is dead, her body absolutely _must_ be treated with respect.

 

Once he takes off the tape, he sets it down on the bed and notices a note. It's written on the hotel's pad of paper in Sharpie.

 

_"Looks like this magician has bad aim"_

 

Brendon frowns. He looks back up at Greta.

 

"She really is beautiful," he says absentmindedly to Ryan.

 

"Yeah," he answers. Brendon can't look any longer.

 

"Did you run a trace on the knives?"

 

Ryan nods. "Absolutely nothing. There was another right where the one on the floor is, it's currently in Forensics. They're handcrafted by someone. Not retail at all. No registry, absolutely nothing."

 

Brendon groans, "There's always something." Ryan hums in agreement.

 

Brendon kneels down, lifting up the knife and turning it in his hands.

 

There's a rabbit carved into the wood, angry eyes and gruesome teeth, jumping out of a top hat. Its claws look like knives.

 

Then Brendon can't be there anymore and leaves the room, leaning against the ledge outside. Ryan follows.

 

"You alright?" Brendon nods.

 

"I don't think you'll need to revisit the scene much. If you do though, you're more than welcome to lay eyes on the gruesome sight. Hold on, let me give you my number in case you need to give me a call. We're partners on this case. At the same time, we can go explore, too. I know my way around Vegas."

 

As Brendon takes the quick scrawl on a torn piece of paper from Ryan's hand, he can't help but look back through the door where he can just see Greta's blood spattered hand, her red nail polish redder than the rusty brown the blood now resembled. He sighs quietly.

 

"They'll be taking her body down after we give them the OK. We have some extra shots of her if you need to take a look once she's down." Brendon nods, though he silently doesn't think he'll be looking at them any time soon.

 

"Come on, how about I show you around Fremont Street?" Ryan asks, closing the hotel room door and leading Brendon to the elevators.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shameless blog promotion lmao:  
> witchymusic.tumblr.com


	4. Suspect Lists and Fremont Fries

"And that, is Planet Hollywood."

  
Ryan points to the large building.

  
"Let's go," Brendon grins, pulling Ryan to the hotel.

  
"Okay, okay! Slow down, Brendon!" Ryan attempts to keep up with Brendon's scamper.

~

  
"Brendon, wait!" Ryan rushes after the boy who's already pressing his face to the cool white glass.

  
"How much?" Brendon looks up at the burly Italian man behind the counter.

  
"Two dollars a scoop. Gelato is two-fifty."  
Brendon digs into his backpack looking for his wallet, but his search comes up empty.  
Brendon looks up at Ryan, who finally caught up, having to weave through the webs of people, some holding hands and some just in the way in general.

  
"No."

  
Brendon's eyebrows upturn a little, and he pouts. They hold their stare for a solid two seconds before Ryan groans and takes ten dollars out of his wallet.

  
"There better be change." He barely finished his sentence before Brendon engulfs him in a tight hug.

  
"Thank you thank you _thank you_ ," he squeals. Brendon turns back to the ice cream.

  
"Alright, one scoop of espresso, one of -ooh, tiramisu, one of that, and..."

  
~

  
"Brendon, you're dripping your ice cream all over the place!" Ryan says exasperatedly, rushing to get napkins as Brendon licks at his cup in a feeble attempt to get all of his ice cream in order.

  
Ryan comes back with more napkins than Brendon really needs.

  
"Thanks," he murmurs as he wipes at his slimy fingers.

  
~

  
Brendon and Ryan are sitting on a porch of a Denny's on the old Fremont Street, sharing a giant plate of fries that Brendon had to only bat his eyelashes once for.

  
"So, Greta." Ryan says it, but Brendon has been thinking it.

  
"Right," he says as he takes another fry, "Let's start with suspects."

  
Ryan nods and Brendon pulls the folder out of his backpack, setting it next to the fries and removing the suspect list, placing it on top.

The first face has downturned hazel eyes and greasy hair that's gelled and swooped up. He has a wide jaw and cleft chin, and he's sticking his tongue out for the mugshot, a slimeball smile painted on his face. His tanned face shines with the oil of his complexion.

  
"Gabe Saporta," Ryan reads, "Nicknamed Cobra. Typical Vegas douche bag. Was a regular at the strip club Greta worked part time at. Our source says he had eyes for Greta, or at least her chest.

  
Brendon rolls his eyes.

  
"Next is William Beckett. Nicknamed, well, he has too many for just one to be on the paper so they left that blank. Typical Vegas con man. Just got out of jail for being caught trying to make a franchise out of hair strengthener that was really fryer grease from the nearest In N' Out Burger." Brendon imagines the cops busting William, suppressing a short laugh. "It doesn't actually say," Ryan flips a page and then flips back, "what exact correlation he has with Greta, that's weird." He turns the page over and back once more. "Hmm. Guess we could just ask suspects. Usually they're familiar with each other, even if only a little." He looks confused.

  
"Might've been an accident," Brendon comments. Ryan nods, lost in thought, before moving on.

  
"Next is," Ryan scans the paper, "Frank Iero. Nicknamed Eyes. Druggie that never got busted surprisingly, shared his coke with Greta. They were good friends. Source says they got into a fight a week or so before she died, and you don't want to fight with him."

  
"Girl must've had guts," Brendon comments. Ryan nods.

  
"Jon walker. Nicknamed Young Guns. Only 17, and already breaking into the shady side of Vegas and stealing all their meth. Charming pickpocket. Stole from Greta, she responded by giving him a nosebleed. Absolutely inseparable after that. Greta's best friend, he'd rig vending machines to give her soda. He's definitely not the prime suspect, but our branch likes to question the victim's close ones in every case. Gives us a better idea of the victim and their interactions.

  
"And this one is my personal favorite, a vile sort of creature, Pete Wentz. Nicknamed Bang. That is for multiple reasons, absolutely none that I want to talk about." Ryan leans back on the yellow, wiry railing fencing them in from the sidewalk and grabs a few fries. "Prime suspect. He was Greta's manager at the club and assigned her clients, which may be obvious because of his fucking obnoxious fashion choices. He is absolutely gruesome and abhorrent and has no respect for any woman besides his girls, the only females he treats with respect. Greta was the only exception. Our source says he thought her natural beauty was offensive and that she'd run his other girls out of business when everyone would start flooding for her. He'd constantly make her wear eyeliner and cake on foundation so everyone would blame her pretty face on her makeup. I despise him. He is currently being released from jail for a DUI, was not in during the time of the murder. His whereabouts are not confirmed by anyone for that night."

  
Brendon shoves a handful of fries in his mouth then takes a sip of coffee.

  
"That's one hell of a suspect list. Do we have any leads?"

  
Ryan shakes his head. "Just the list."

  
"Fuck."

  
Ryan nods and eats a fry, pushing the plate with the last one towards Brendon. Brendon takes it gratefully.

  
~

  
The walk to the Fremont Street parking lot isn't that far. They walk in silence.

  
When they get back to the hotel, they both sigh in content when they step into the air conditioner.

  
They ride the elevator together, both to the 13th floor.

  
When Brendon stops at his door, Ryan stops at the one next to it.

  
"Goodnight, Brendon," Ryan says with a small smile.

  
"Goodnight Ryan," he replies.

  
Brendon goes into his hotel room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, sorry it took me so long to upload!! ive been in a really bad state mentally and have been grounded until very recently. i should be doing an essay right now actually lmao but whatever anyway so my tumblr is witchymusic.tumblr.com bc i am follower thirsty


	5. Sapphires Are Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I'm so sorry it took me this long to upload!! I ran into a huge writers block and actually put writing down for a little while but with a random idea of where exactly I want to take this story, I have a vague map of everything I have yet to write and am just on my way to finishing it. Also I tried to make the chapter title the same as the others but I couldn't pass up the joke I'm so sorry. Also I think u guys are gonna like the next chapter it was my favorite one to write so far!! Anyways i hope u all enjoy lov u

Brendon is looking at the view of the desert in the early morning when he hears his phone start blasting "Untouched" by The Veronicas.

  
He rushes to get his phone from his backpack and answers the call quickly.

  
"Hello?"

  
"Nice ringtone."

  
"Ryan?"

  
"Come on, let's take my car to see Pete."

  
"I'll be ready in five." Brendon hangs up and gets dressed in his uniform.

  
He walks next door and knocks.

  
~

  
They stop right outside the doors.

  
"Sapphire Gentlemen's Club. Otherwise known as my second to least favorite place in this entire slice of habited desert."

  
"What's the first?" Brendon stares at the tinted doors.

  
"You don't want to know."

  
They walk inside.

  
"Hello, gentlemen. Here for the ladies, or a private show? Or maybe you two are here for our couples special," A toothy grin speaks.

  
Brendon recognizes him from the suspect list.

  
"U-Uh," Ryan stammers before quickly regaining his composure, "no, not a couple. I'm Detective Ross and this is Detective Urie. We're here regarding the death of Greta Salpeter." Ryan and Brendon flick out their badges. "We're hoping you can answer some questions, Mr. Wentz."

  
~

  
"I had assigned the appointment to Greta. He called on the phone to schedule, which is normal for the dudes being held down by a wife and family so I didn't think anything of it. He said he already had a place so he didn't need me to get him a room at our motel down the street. I said alright, because, again, not unusual.

"Greta waited out front for him and I heard the car pull up around 11:30. And that's it." Pete's got his legs up on his desk, and his arms are crossed behind his head.

  
"Who was close to Greta? Closer than her other friends, at least."

  
Pete eyes Ryan. "If you're asking if she had any boyfriends, no. Get a job like this and your idea of love is skewered. But one of her best friends was William Beckett. I would see him pick her up from work sometimes. She'd also mention Jon Walker every once in a while but I never saw him around."

  
"Do you know anyone that may be Greta's enemy?" Ryan asks while writing in his notepad.

  
"Gabe Saporta. He creeped her out a lot, she thought he was always trying to feel her up after her shift was over 'cause he'd always talk to her and he's a creep. Multiple times, she had to get me to escort her to her car because she was scared." Pete's scowling at the recollection and Brendon nudges Ryan to ask something else.

  
"What was your relationship with Greta like?"

  
"She may have gotten on my nerves a lot, but I cared about her. I thought of her as a sister. People only noticed when I got mad at her. Never when I kept an eye out for her. I made her cake on makeup so no one thought she was as beautiful as she really was and get any violent ideas. People always twist it to be that I wanted her to look uglier so my other girls didn't have to compete. I'd never. I cared about her." His eyes glass over like he's thinking hard.

  
"You don't mind if we ask a few of your 'girls' about Greta? Just so we can get some info," Ryan flips his notepad closed and slips it into his jacket.

  
"No, not at all. As long as you're not thinking of writing any names down," Pete raises an eyebrow.

  
"No, Detective Urie and I respect all lines of work and as far as we know," Ryan gives Pete a clueless look, "they're just strippers."

  
Pete nods contentedly and stands up.

  
"Right this way."

  
~

  
"Yeah, we were friends."

  
Brendon sees Ryan put a check mark next to Lindsey's name.

  
Ryan nods thoughtfully.  
"Did Greta have anyone she didn't like, or anyone that didn't like her?"

  
Lindsey nodded, "Tons. It's no big surprise that when you're a piece of shit, people treat you how you treat them." She cracks a loud bubble with her gum.

  
"You don't really sound like you two were friends, Miss Ballato."

  
"Call me Miss Ballato one more time and your testicles will be hanging from the back of my pickup."

  
"Sorry."

  
Lindsey reaches behind her head to one of her pigtails and comes back with a bobby pin, tossing it at Brendon.

  
"Just in case you need to pin his balls back on him." Brendon gulps, pocketing it. _Just in case_.

  
She scrapes the pink residue of gum from her cheek with her index finger and shoves it back into her mouth, transferring crimson lipstick onto her already crimson fingernails.

  
"And to answer your question, we were the absolute best of friends! We were family. Family's gotta stick together. And that's exactly what we did. I let her know when she was being shitty, and she did the same for me. It's a win-win thing, you get a friendship, and someone lets you know when you need to slow your fuckin' roll."

Another crack of gum.

  
"So, who was the most prominent of enemies in Greta's life?"

  
Lindsey pauses, and after a moment shrugs, cracking her gum.

  
~

  
"I didn't like her much. Those tits _had_ to be fake. And she overlined her lips too much," Gerard fumes.

  
"Well, Mr. Way, did you ever fight with Greta?"

  
He nods furiously, sending a feather on his boa flying into the air.

  
Ryan frowns, catching it between two fingers.

  
"Just once. We used to be very close, actually. Then one of my customers and I got closer, if you know what I mean, and she started hating me. I wish she didn't."

  
"Who are your usual customers?" Brendon asks.

  
Gerard laughs airily. "I'm usually on the pole, but I'm a total size queen to two customers and two customers only." Brendon admires his unashamedness. "Believe it or not, I get payed the most by my customers. Greta was second, she could fake the look of love in her eyes. People like that, makes 'em think there's something more than there is."

  
~

  
Brendon sips his coffee and looks over their notes. So far, only one lead, and a weak one at that.

  
"I just don't see how any of these girls, and guy, could do it. They're too genuine, and they act like family. Pete, too."

  
"Yeah, but it still could be one of them."

  
Brendon nods reluctantly.  
"At least we know who to ask next."

  
Ryan gives a half-hearted smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again shameless plug : witchymusic.tumblr.com and why not just throw my 8tracks and cymbal on here too @witchypunk tell me what u think !! catch u on the flipside lovelies


	6. Con Artists and Cigarettes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhhohohoh hello again lovelies; I have returned from the dead! I am very sorry for sitting on this fic for over a fucking year I have literally no excuse but I hadn't forgotten about it !! I now have a very rough but very definite idea of where this fic is going for the rest of it and I will get there one way or another so there's only one way to go from here: to the end! I promise I won't hold out on you guys for another year ever again -hugs- alright catch u on the flip side

"Salutations, folks! What I have here is an innovative product that will have your minds blown!"

 

William Beckett (The Great, as his sign proclaims) mimics a small explosion at each of his temples.

 

"Today, ladies and gentlemen, I bring to you a marvelous invention! This," he pulls something from his back pocket, "is The Magical Universal Glasses!"

 

It's just a pair of glasses.

 

"I know what you're thinking, dear audience, and no, this is  _not_  just a pair of glasses! This pair of slick spectacles is, as I have said before, universal! Does anyone wear glasses in the crowd?"

 

A few people in the crowd start to raise their hands, but a blonde girl in a crop top beats them to it.

 

"I do!" she says loudly. She's wearing large, black frames.

 

"Marvelous, marvelous, now come onto the stage dear, watch your step, people tend to trip on it, alright. Now, if you will face the audience and remove your glasses for me."

 

The blonde does so.

 

"What is your name?"

 

"Brittany."

 

William smiles, "Alright Brittany, if you could please tell me what you see right now."

 

"Nothing," she replies plainly.

 

"And if you could put on the glasses." He hands them to her.

 

She puts them on, and her eyes widen a little bit.

 

"I can see fine!"

 

The crowd gives a small clap, still wary.

 

"Alright, thank you Brittany, if you could please return my pair, and you may put yours back on and return to the crowd." William continues as Brittany gets off the small 'stage', a slab of painted wood protruding from the back of his van that's elevated by a few more boards.

 

"Now, anyone else in the crowd wear glasses?"

 

William picks another hand that shoots up before the rest of the crowd can react. 

 

"Yes, come up on stage."

 

Brendon recognizes the face, but it takes a minute before he realizes who it is.

 

"What's your name?" William asks the man.

 

"Gabe."

 

"Alright Gabe, if you could please remove your glasses and tell me what you see."

 

Ryan mutters under his breath, "Gabe fucking Saporta."

 

Brendon doesn't really know what to think.

 

"I see blurry stuff and I can barely tell you're right next to me." He's squinting a lot while gesticulating wildly towards William.

 

"Alright Gabe, please put on The Magical Universal Glasses for me."

 

Gabe puts them on and he smiles.

 

"Everything is clear!" he exclaims.

 

There's a small eruption of applause from the bunch of people gathered at the Old Fremont Street sidewalk.

 

"Thank you Gabe, you've been marvelous. Please return the pair of The Magical Universal Glasses to me, and step down from the stage, please. Oh, just as proof, Gabriel, are you near or farsighted?"

 

"Far," Gabe hollers from the crowd.

 

"And Brittany?"

 

"Near!"

 

More claps from the crowd. 

 

"Alright, folks," William claps and rubs his hands together, facing the crowd, "Starting price for these beauties is 50. It's flexible, but not by much. No trying on the glasses without buying them first. No change is given. And last but not least, no credit, debit, check, exchanges, returns, or refunds. Now, who's going to be the first to receive these wonders? Please form a line, thank you."

 

Ryan looks pissed. "There is no way that is real." Brendon shakes his head in disbelief. He's more stunned that people are actually in line to buy it.

 

They wait until the crowd thins out and William The Great packs up his stage into the back of the truck. Brendon can't find Gabe Saporta anywhere, and wonders if they should've followed him. What's done is done though, and Brendon doesn't think they could find him even if they tried, considering just how large Las Vegas is if you're looking for one very douchey person out of the millions of other douchey people.

 

They hang around for a bit across from the van, Ryan smoking a cigarette.

 

"Really? Cigarettes?" Brendon asks with a hint of disgust.

 

"Calms me down."

 

Brendon doesn't have a response for that, so he just waits until William gets into the back of his van before nodding towards it to make their move. Ryan stubs his cigarette on the wall they were leaning against and gives it a twist with his shoe when it falls to the ground before following closely behind Brendon.

 

They cross the open area and then Brendon gives Ryan a look that says 'Let's do this.' and knocks on the van door.

 

Brendon can hear noise on the other side and what he believes are springs creaking. There's muffled footsteps moving closer to them and then the door swings open a little.

William's face pokes out. "Hello, gentlemen, ah, I remember you two from the crowd. Here to purchase pairs of The Magical Universal Glasses?" 

 

"Actually," Ryan says, "I'm Detective Ross and this is Detective Urie," They flip their badges, "If it's alright with you we'd like to ask you some questions."

 

William's eyes widen and he grins nervously. "If it's about the hair tonic, I was gifted the recipe from a friend! I didn't know it was fryer-"

 

"No Mr. Beckett, it's about Greta Salpeter."

 

William seems to be caught off guard by the name, stumbling a little out of the van door and revealing a bare shoulder and defined collar bone.

 

"Alright, give me, just give me a, give me a second," He retreats into the van, closing the door behind him and Brendon is worried William is going to drive away, but the door swings all the way open and William is standing in front of them in a purple, wrinkled t-shirt. It's backwards.

 

"Please come in," he says with what seems to be last second composure.

 

Brendon and Ryan duck their heads and enter.

 

There's purple curtains on the windows, making the entire back of the van bathed in the color, and there's a shitty-looking couch taking up the entire left half of the van with a person on it. When Brendon's eyes finally adjust to the weirdly muted lighting he realizes Gabe Saporta is sitting on the couch, his legs sprawled and a can of beer in hand. Brendon notes he isn't wearing glasses.

 

"Well hello there dudes, how may we be of service?" He motions to himself and William, giving William's thigh a gentle slap in the process.

 

 Ryan gives a little wave. "We just wanted to ask, actually both of you now that we know you're here, some questions about the death of Greta Salpeter." Gabe stiffens. William plops onto the couch next to him and comfortingly pats his knee.

 

The van doors swing open and the blonde girl from William's little show leans in.

 

"William, I bought stuff with that money you gave me! Wanna see?" She speaks with a vaguely Swedish accent that Brendon notices is natural in comparison to how she talked earlier, a valley girl's drawl. Brendon also notices she isn't wearing glasses.

 

William smiles, "That's nice Maja, please give me and Gabe a moment with these gentlemen."

 

The girl smiles and nods with glassy eyes before closing the door.

 

Ryan clears his throat.

 

"Alright, so. Where were you two on Tuesday night around midnight?"

 

Gabe is smirking a little, "My house. Hey Arnold was on tv so we thought, 'why not go home early and watch some cartoons?'"

 

Ryan responds, "Do you have anyone to back you up on that?"

 

William nods, "Frank Iero." 

 

Ryan raises an eyebrow. "And what were you doing with Mr. Iero?"

 

"The usual, some drinks. That boy can down whiskey well. Greta would've been with us, but she was on her shift. She was loyal to her work, wouldn't bat an eyelash if any of us would ask for a session. Gabe and I never did, of course."

 

"How did you meet Greta?"

 

"Gabe. He introduced me to her in the first place. Same with Frank and the rest of our friends. Gabe started our little circle. He can come off a little, well, strong, and Greta didn't like it too much, but they were still friends. She'd tell her boss he was some random creep," William gives him a small shove, "so she'd keep her 'reputation', as she'd put it."

 

Ryan nods and writes something into his notepad.

 

"Do you know where we can find Mr. Iero?"

 

"Well, we can give you his address if you want." Ryan nods and copies it down.

 

"What was Frank acting like that night?" Ryan asks.

 

William grimaces. "Not normal. He seemed frazzled, like something was on his mind. He kept zoning out and staring at nothing, oh and he was shaking a bit too. He'd just gotten into another round in his fight with Greta so we chalked it up to that. We were worried and when we asked he just said he was tired and that he should go home."

Gabe looks nervous before speaking up. "Except he didn't go the way to his house. He went towards all the tourist stuff."

 

Ryan doesn't speak for a second. He gathers up his words, "What were they fighting over?"

 

"Frank's gay," Gabe says. "Greta wanted him to not be. If you know what I mean," He pauses, "When she found out who he had heart eyes for instead of her, she exploded. One of her own friends. She couldn't believe it. Greta had threatened to kill Frank's boyfriend. We just watched in surprise. 

 

"Frank tried reasoning with her, but she wasn't hearing it. She left that night and Frank said his boyfriend had bruises and scratches on his neck and face the next day. I think you could guess what they were from. We loved Greta, but she could be a cold-hearted bitch." William nods slowly in agreement. 

 

It's a moment before Ryan speaks. "Would Frank kill Greta?"

 

"No," Gabe says with a sad tone, "But he'd hurt someone he was fighting with if it was bad enough." He grimaces and William has to rub his shoulders soothingly. 

 

"Not trying to pry, but who had Frank fallen in love with?" Brendon asks quietly.

 

Gabe answers, "Gerard Way." 

 

Ryan thanks them and gives his condolences, Brendon doing the same, and they open the van door and step out into the late afternoon.

 

"Wait, Detectives," Gabe blurts out, "Do you think Frank _did_ kill Greta?"

 

Brendon hesitates, Gabe's sad gaze making him wonder what to really say. 

 

"We don't know, Gabe. We'd like to talk to him either way." 

 

Gabe nods absentmindedly, eyes distant and mind somewhere else.

 

"Goodbye, gentlemen, please close the door on your way out," William says as they leave before turning away and lifting Gabe into his lap, and Brendon hears the quiet smack of a kiss. When he turns to close the door, he catches a glimpse of William holding Gabe in his arms, their foreheads touching. Tears stream down Gabe's cheeks, his face screwed up with grief. Brendon looks away from the intimate moment, feeling intrusive, and closes the van doors.

 

They're quiet for a while as they walk to the car before Brendon remembers the information they've just learned.

 

"We have a very solid motive, and absolutely no alibi for Iero. I think he's our man." Ryan nods in agreement, and they start walking faster.

 

~

 

"No, left. Or wait, maybe it's a right?"

 

"I thought you knew Vegas like the back of your hand!" Brendon says with mild frustration.

 

"I do! Just... just not this part."

 

Brendon turns left.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ur typical plug: witchymusic.tumblr.com , instagram is @xpetexwentzx , and my 8tracks and cymbal is @witchypunk  
> i will be starting a twitch channel to stream art, but that doesnt exist yet and will be jammed into here when it finally is erected (heh i said erect) love u guys and i will see u SOON. xoxo -seance


	7. Eyes and Nerves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well slap my ass and call me a moron I haven't uploaded in a while. Hit some writer's block and was like hmm i better not update just so that my word document doesnt run too low on content that hasnt been posted but i was like eh whatever its taken me too long to post so here we are folks. anyways. i havent really had the ability to write lately, been going through some mental shit and even was at the hospital for a weekend. ive got some meds now (tmi) so i should stabilize soon and writing should come back along with my normalcy. thanks for sticking around with this fic for so long, i havent given up on it yet so you dont have to either <3  
> anyways TRIGGER WARNING: ~~more graphic depiction of murder ayy lmao~~

Before they get out of the car, Brendon pulls his phone from his backpack and texts Mulligan.

" _think weve found our man_ "

"Good. Be careful. This guy's cold blooded."

" _will do boss_ "

"Good luck."

Brendon puts his phone back into his backpack and removes his gun from its holster, turning the safety off and checking for ammo.

They step out into the muggy dusk air. Brendon looks around cautiously. I swear there's eyes on me. He mentally waves it off. _Nerves. You're okay, Brendon. You're the one with a gun, Frank's the one that killed his friend._ Brendon gulps.

They walk slowly to the door, and Brendon peeks in the dark window. No one is in sight.

He nods, and Ryan knocks.

Nothing.

Again.

A crow caws nearby.

Nothing.

Ryan gives him a look. Brendon shrugs.

"Mr. Iero?" Ryan shouts.

Silence fills the air, electric and burning their lungs.

Then Ryan turns the doorknob and realizes it's unlocked. He removes his gun from his waistband and opens the door more, immediately putting the pistol up. He looks around, shakes his head, and they walk inside.

It's dark except for the light at the top of the staircase.

Ryan flicks his head toward the light and Brendon nods, moving behind Ryan.

They reach the top of the stairs and are faced with a hallway.

It's long, narrow, and bare of anything except for four doors and a framed picture on the wall. Brendon looks closer and sees that it's Frank and Gerard, smiling widely.

The door at the end of the hallway is ajar.

They hesitantly cross the hallway.

Ryan takes a breath before pushing gently on the door and winces when it creaks.

He skips the dramatics and shoves it open, feeling around frantically for a light switch and flicking it on.

"Oh my god," Ryan chokes out.

Frank Iero is laying on his bed, his eyes gouged out and X's sliced over their sockets from his eyebrows to around where his nose is. There's a word carved into his chest. Blood is pooled all over it, Brendon can't make out what it says.

He holds Ryan back from walking forward and reaches in his backpack to get out his phone.

He snaps a photo.

He forwards it to Mulligan. When it sends, he goes back to take a closer one. It takes a long moment before Mulligan answers saying he's sending LVPD at their word.

"All ours."

Ryan nods. He leaves the room, and Brendon continues snapping photos of everything, right down to a carving of three cards, an ace of spades, diamonds, and hearts, in the headboard.

Ryan returns with a white shower towel, handing it to Brendon.

Ryan backs up before Brendon places the towel on top of the word on Frank's chest. He presses gently, sopping up as much blood as he can before stepping back and taking in what Frank's chest says.

The writing is precise yet quickly sliced deep into the skin. It takes Brendon a moment to make it out, but once he does, he feels light headed.

_Incorrect._

Brendon swallows back the bile rising in his throat.

Everything is fresh, and there are five small circular marks on Frank's throat, suggesting being held down before slowly bleeding to death from the eye and chest wounds. He hands his phone to Ryan, who starts snapping photos as Brendon goes. Brendon works with a certain precision, lifting and replacing as if he were never there, treating the body with all of the respect he possibly can.

He pulls his fingerprint kit out of his backpack, laying dust on the marks imprinted on Frank's neck. His brush ghosts over Frank's pale skin, and Brendon groans in frustration when the black dust adheres to nothing.

"No prints?" Ryan asks, preoccupied with snapping photos.

Brendon grumbles in response, getting back to work.

Brendon notes that in Frank's photo on the suspect list he was very attractive, Brendon would admit that unashamedly. But this person, that he is examining the scalp of for any wounds or bruises, this person fills him with such an intense sense of grief. He wishes he could have met Frank, this man that sounds so complex, but someone decided to murder him. All because Brendon and Ryan were incorrect. Brendon has to try not to get emotional.

Brendon is silently glad that the only things on Frank's legs are small, pale stretch marks and not any bruising to suggest assault of that kind.

Brendon looks around the floor and points at the black shirt that looks to be thrown on the ground. Ryan gets a picture.

As Brendon checks Frank's neck, he hears a sick crack when he turns Frank's head. When he releases it, it falls back flimsily. Brendon rushes from the room, running to closest door, flicking the light on in what is luckily the bathroom. He rushes to the toilet, throwing open the lid and vomiting.

Ryan is at the door in a snap of the fingers, at Brendon's side and rubbing his back in the blink of an eye.

"It's gruesome," he says quietly and Brendon tries to nod in agreement through the bile.

When Brendon finishes, he tips his head back before slamming the lid down and feeling blindly for the handle to flush.

"Are you okay?" Ryan asks quietly in Brendon's ear. Brendon nods. He leans back against the bathtub facing the toilet and remains there for a few minutes, Ryan sitting next to him.

"You don't have to go back in," Ryan murmurs.

Brendon shakes his head. "That won't help Frank."

Ryan looks at Brendon, and moves the hair from Brendon's face which is shining with sweat.

Brendon closes his eyes and leans into the touch until he's resting on Ryan's shoulder, the top of his head in the crook of Ryan's neck.

"It's absolutely dreadful, isn't it."

Brendon nuzzles Ryan's collar bone in response.

"Would you like to continue, or-"

"Yes," Brendon reluctantly gets up.

Ryan quickly follows, and they reenter Frank's bedroom.

That's when Brendon sees the piece of paper on Frank's dresser. He goes to get a closer look.

_"Keep your Eyes on your card"_

Brendon doesn't know what to think of it.

"Why is," Brendon says quietly to Ryan, who is leaning over his shoulder, "Why is Eyes capitalized?"

It takes a few moments before Ryan answers, "Frank. His nickname was Eyes."

At first Brendon thinks he's going to vomit again, but then Ryan's touch registers in his brain and he's peaceful.

"Let's continue."

Ryan agrees.

~

The snap of gloves being removed and the thumping of resigned feet fills the staircase as Ryan and Brendon make their leave, having finished the preliminary investigation of Frank's body. As they cross the empty floor and make their way to the door, something catches Brendon's eye.

A dim red light blinks in the darkness to his left, and he stops Ryan.

"Look," he points.

Brendon reaches into his backpack, retrieving his flashlight and clicking it on.

It's a phone, a dark grey landline with the voicemail light flashing.

Brendon uses the glove in his hand to press the play button, and the phone whirs to life.

"Hello, Brendon. It's nice to meet you. And Ryan, nice to hear of you again. Been awhile since you've had a case of any worth, hasn't it?" Ryan grumbles next to Brendon. "It's me, the guy with the knives. And spoon, in the case of Frank's eyes." The man barks out a laugh. "Just wanted to call and say you were incorrect, but you already seem to know that. It'll be hard to find me, and when you do, I'll be one step ahead. Make a move, boys. I'll know about it. Remember, dead ends are in every maze. This game is fun, detectives. Let's keep playing."

The message ends, and Brendon feels the blood drain from his face.

He rushes out the door and back into the night, huffing in breaths and feeling lightheaded. Ryan is at his side in an instant, a delicate arm rubbing his back gently.

Brendon's nerves from earlier are back, creeping up his spine and engulfing his throat. He sits on Frank's doorstep, having trouble breathing, and leans on Ryan's shoulder while he tries to regain control of his breath.

"I just don't fucking know what to do, Ryan. I don't want people to die just because I think I know who the killer is!" he says exasperatedly, arms crossed and back hunched.

"I know it's tough. We can do this, Brendon. We just have to keep our focus and try to gather more evidence before jumping to conclusions, okay?" Ryan puts his arm around Brendon's shaky shoulders.

"Let's get out of here, I can feel Frank watching me." Ryan nods and stands, catching Brendon's hand and leading the way to the car.

Brendon pulls out his phone with nervous hands and dials Mulligan, telling him they had finished.

"Oh and there's a phone in the living room that I want taken into evidence, maybe someone in tech can tell us who last called Frank."

"Will do."

Brendon hangs up and Ryan drives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i plan to write more over the course of this month; my editing process, however, is lengthy and grueling and it may be a while until you guys get another chapter. few months maybe. hopefully less, though. see you guys soon ! -Seance


	8. Nightmares and Kung Pao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! This chapter is kinda longer than my usual because I felt bad about making you wait and I wrote a decent chunk recently, so yay for you guys ! A few notes at the end of the chapter. Otherwise, read away!

Mulligan is the one who tells Brendon he and Ryan have to break the news to Gabe and William.

It's hard. They've just lost a friend, now they're losing another.

William sobs something about how Frank had just fallen in love and he'd gotten off his meds and god he just wants Frank back. 

Gabe curls up into a ball. He leans into William, who is more than compliant to hold him.

Brendon feels absolutely terrible. He gives his condolences, feeling disgustingly repetitive, and when they turn to leave, William stops them.

"We're not going to be staying at Fremont anymore, it's too dangerous. Can we have your phone number? We may change ours and we'd like to be able to contact you two."

Brendon nods quickly and retrieves a pen that he spots on the soft carpet of the van, writing his number on Gabe's shaky, outstretched arm.

Underneath the ten digits, Brendon writes in small letters:

" _William's police record is cleaned_ "

And with that, he and Ryan leave.

 

~

 

Brendon throws his hands down from where they were previously digging into his temples.

"I just don't get it! We had it all explained, everything would've made sense!"

Ryan looks at him worriedly from the driver's seat when they stop at the red light.

"We just have to keep going, okay?" 

"How did our guy even know we thought it was Frank?"

Ryan can only shrug. 

Ryan's hand rests at his side, tapping the rim of the cup holder in between their seats.

Brendon traces his fingers over Ryan's bony ones, feeling all the muscles that retract and expand with each tap as Brendon skates along them.

The light turns green and Ryan moves his hand back to the steering wheel.

Brendon's gaze drifts out the window and he watches the Vegas lights streak by. He counts two strip clubs, nine varying forms of casinos (eight if you don't count the restaurant with a slot machine at every table), four hotels (three with casinos), and six places to eat. 

That night, Brendon's dreams are plagued with visions of knives and eyeballs missing their heads. Frank's scream, regardless of the fact Brendon had never heard Frank speak, rips through his mind. When he jolts awake with a shout, sweat dripping down his face and shoulders, the knocking on his door comes quickly afterwards.

"Brendon? It's Ryan. Are you okay? Do you want me to come in?" Brendon gets up and opens the door. "I heard you and I figured you were having nightmares too." Brendon nods and steps back to let Ryan in. He walks to his bed and lets Ryan follow him.

They don't say anything, a silent agreement when they get into the same bed, disregarding the one next to it.

Brendon sleeps closer to the middle of the bed than he did before.

 

~

 

When Brendon wakes up, he's sweaty and his arms and legs are numb and he's tangled in someone else. There's a lock of hair dangling in front of his eyelashes and when he looks up, Ryan's button nose is breathing steadily above him. He doesn't want to wake Ryan up, but he doesn't like this sleeping arrangement either.

He attempts to untangle himself from Ryan with as little movement as possible, but his attempt fails and Ryan stirs.

"Huh? Oh, Brendon, I'm sorry, I," Ryan starts, but Brendon shakes his head and laughs.

"It's alright."

They straighten themselves out on the bed. Brendon notices how close together they still are.

"So what do we do next," Ryan says, not sounding much like a question. His breath breezes against Brendon's hair because he turned his head to talk.

"I think we should speak with Jon Walker."

Brendon's train of thought is interrupted by his phone ringing.

He feels around the nightstand blindly before shutting The Veronicas up by answering.

"Urie."

"It's me," Mulligan's gruff voice says, "Forensics says they couldn't find anything of importance on the victim's body, they're gonna do a more in-depth search but it doesn't seem like they're gonna find anything."

"Alright, thanks boss."

"No problem. Oh, and Urie? We looked for the phone you mentioned, but there wasn't a landline anywhere in the house. We found the victim's cell phone though, so we took that into evidence." Mulligan hangs up.

"Everything okay?" Ryan asks from next to him.

Brendon shakes his head, eyes widening in realization. 

"Damnit, damnit damnit _damnit_ he was watching us the whole time!"

"What?"

Brendon sits up, looking exasperatedly at Ryan. 

"He was watching us at Frank's house! He waited until we were gone and he stole the damn phone out of the living room! I felt someone watching me but I thought it was just me being nervous, but it was him! He was right there and we had no idea!" Brendon lays back down, furious, and Ryan rubs his arm.

"It's not your fault, how could you have known he was watching us?"

"It still feels like it is," Brendon covers his face with Ryan's shoulder, letting the faint scent of cinnamon calm him down.

 

~

 

The ride to Jon's house is long and silent, and they both can feel a looming sadness that's stuck in their throats, blocking all the words they should be saying. All they can think to do is turn off the radio, at least letting the silence simmer like it needs to.

Streaks of pink and blue neon wash over them in the dusk as Ryan drives to the address Mulligan texted them.

When they arrive, Brendon has to check Mulligan's message to make sure he has the right place. Oddly enough, it's correct.

The house is practically on its last breath, vines and ivy snaking up the walls, holes in the windows.

Brendon advances quietly, motioning to Ryan that he's circling around the back. Ryan nods, taking to the front door.

When Brendon sees the backyard, he's convinced no one can be living in the house. The grass has grown to be just below knee length, and broken beer bottles litter the area, which is surrounded by a chainlink fence with large gashes all over it. When Brendon squints, he can make out a corpse of a shed in the far corner of the yard.

He rushes back to the front where Ryan is waiting by the door, and shrugs.

Ryan tentatively advances to the door that's just barely ajar, and knocks gently.

Before he's even finished knocking, the door swings open and Ryan jumps back. 

A lanky boy, young and scruffy, stands in the doorway. He fidgets a little, eyeing Brendon annoyedly. 

"What do you want?" he says quietly, swinging his arms a little. 

Brendon collects himself quickly and pulls out his badge. "I'm Detective Brendon Urie, this is Detective Ryan Ross," Ryan flashes his badge dazedly, "and we'd like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Walker."

Jon peers at the badges before backing out of the doorway, letting Brendon and Ryan inside. The first thing Brendon notices is that the only source of light is an old tv with lines of static popping along the screen every few seconds. There's an old, beat-up couch in front of it with one of the arms falling off. 

Jon motions to the couch, and Brendon and Ryan sit down with slight confusion. Jon walks into the kitchen.

"You guys want anything? I got some leftovers from Grand Wok, I got some coffee too. Oh, and I think I have a teabag or two somewhere," Jon pokes his head back into the living room.

"Uh, tea would be lovely," Ryan says, eyeing Brendon in disbelief. 

"Coffee, please." Jon nods and disappears back into the small kitchen, now lit with a single dim bulb. 

Brendon hesitantly pulls out his phone as he hears Jon punching buttons on a microwave, shrill beeps piercing the quiet.

_"jon is quite the character"_

"Walker? Yeah, he's known to be odd. I'm sure you can get something out of him, though."

As Brendon slides his phone back into his pocket, the microwave lets out another screech and Jon shuffles back in with a steaming container and a styrofoam cup filled with coffee.

He sets them down on the small table in front of the couch, rushing back into the kitchen when a kettle's whistle rings out over the silence.

Brendon catches Ryan's eye, mouthing "What the fuck." Ryan shakes his head and gives a small shrug of confused agreement.

When Jon reenters with a cup of tea for Ryan, he plops down on the couch next to the two, pulling a fork from his pocket. He pops open the container of Chinese food- smells delicious- and begins eating what looks like Kung Pao. 

"So," Brendon clears his throat, "Mr. Walker. You were friends with Greta Salpeter, correct?" 

"What do you mean 'were'?" Jon asks, talking with his mouth full.

"Pardon?" Ryan asks, looking to Brendon.

"What do you mean 'you were friends with Greta'? We still are, dude." 

"Do you," Brendon has to stop himself from sounding rude and just barreling into _do you really not know your best friend is dead_ , "do you know where she's been lately?" Not his best execution, but it got the job done.

"Fuck if I know, Greta disappears sometimes. She's a hooker, you're not around a lot when you get paid to have sex every night. Probably up in a motel."

_Try crucified in a fancy hotel._

"Mr. Walker-"

"Jon."

"Jon, Greta is, Greta is dead."

Jon stops chewing his Kung Pao, staring blankly at the static popping on the tv. 

"She what."

Brendon winces inwardly, regretting his word choice, "She was killed."

Jon looks at Brendon at that.

"Someone murdered my best friend."

Brendon nods hesitantly.

"I'm sorry for your loss." 

Jon looks away.

"Why are you here, detectives?" Jon says in a closed-off, disconnected manner.

"We actually have a few questions to ask you, but we understand if you're not ready to answer them."

Jon shakes his head, "Ask away."

Ryan hesitantly retrieves his notepad, ready to write.

"Where were you on Tuesday night?"

Jon pulls a face, "That was ages ago man," _Four days ago_ \- "I dunno, I'm only ever at Frank Iero's or work."

"Where do you work?"

"Down at the pawn shop on South Main, Super Pawn. None of that commercial reality show shit."

"Can anyone confirm you were there?"

"My boss Patrick, he's pretty chill. Likes magic and all that. Actually, wait, no. Tuesday, Patrick wasn't at work. He had his boyfriend Pete covering for him." Ryan eyes Brendon.

"Pete?"

"Sleazy-lookin' dude. If he didn't come by every day at 12 to hang out with us and kiss Patrick's cheeks into oblivion, I'd think he was totally skeevy."

"We know the type," Brendon mutters.

"Had Greta been acting strange lately?" Ryan asks.

"Not that I can remember, no. She did get in a really bad fight with Frank Iero, though. Sad, besides me, he was her best friend. They'd smoke on his porch every Friday. Greta may have a bit of a misleading job, but she's one of the nicest people I know. Uh, knew."

"Well, Jon, I believe you've told us all that we need to know. Thank you very much for your time. Good tea, by the way." Ryan takes one last sip before setting down his cup and rising to shake Jon's hand.

"If you need to know anything else, you know where I live, dudes." Jon takes a large bite of his chicken.

"Thank you. Sorry again for your loss," Brendon adds.

Jon waves his hand. He gives a nod as Brendon and Ryan say their polite goodbyes and leave. 

They hesitate before driving away, sitting in silence. The coffee is cold in Brendon's hand. 

The screeching of The Veronicas startles Brendon, spilling some of his coffee on his lap. He groans before pulling out his phone.

"Urie."

"It's William. I'm in the parking lot of the Beverly Palms near my old parking spot. We have something you should see."

"We'll be there in ten." He hangs up.

"Who was it?" Ryan asks from behind the wheel.

"Our favorite Fremont con artist. Wants us to meet with him." Ryan nods and switches lanes.

 

~

 

"I can't fucking believe it."

They're seated on William's couch, Brendon wide-eyed at what's before him. 

"We severed the wires the second we saw it, tried to do it without being in frame so whoever put it here would think it just stopped working."

Ryan shakes his head. "I can't believe someone put up cameras in your van."

Brendon thinks for a moment, brows furrowed, before his eyes widen and he looks to Ryan.

"That's how he knew we suspected Frank." William covers his eyes and Gabe grabs his other hand to thread their fingers together.

"Can I see the camera?" Brendon asks.

Gabe nods, handing it to him and averting his attention to William.

He turns the thing over in his hands. It looks normal, but Brendon sees a sticker. He shakes his head in disbelief.

"I know where we're going next."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering making a playlist for this fic, not of songs that go with the fic but rather the songs I played to help me properly convey the mood. And there's a scene in a later chapter that I definitely have a few songs to share for. If anyone wants to make my day and tell me what songs they feel go with my lil ol' fic, by all means be my guest -heart eyes- I started writing a fob horror fic based on the movie VHS so it might be a little slow on updates for this fic unless I manage to finish that fic sooner than I predict I will. It'll be about five chapters, maybe even two depending how I want to actually slice up the fic, and there won't be any romance, but some ships will be present. This makes no sense but if you actually read it it does. My writing will be much more frequent when summer rolls around, so look forward to that ! I refuse to let my writing stagnate over the break from school. This year is my junior year so I've been super busy and we all know senior year is a McFucking Joke so I should have a lot more time that I can put into writing compared to this year. Also, if I manage to earn enough money for a new phone, I can go back to writing on the bus ! Anyways thats all the updates to good ol' Seance's life and I'm gonna go now so i can GO BACK TO WRITING THIS FIC WA HE Y seeya guys i love u !!


	9. Pawn Shops & Pancakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would like to sheepishly apologize for going MIA again. i may or may not have had some mental issues that rendered me incapable of writing, much less devoting thought to it lmao anyways thiis chapter is (i think) longer than i usually post to apologize a lil for taking so long to update. im getting more liberal with how much i put into each chapter since the story is starting to wind down and tie its ends together. theres still more to come (and more -cough-ryden to come [next chapter, lookin at you]) but there is definitely an end in sight, i just have to figure out how to get my writing joints un-dusty first. expect it before the end of summer, definitely.

Super Pawn is a tiny store wedged between a Great Clips and Chinese restaurant. There are interesting objects in the window, a tv shaped like lips and a mannequin wearing vintage clothes. Brendon catches Ryan's interested gaze at the tweed vest atop the plastic flesh.

  
"Didn't know you were into 70's style, Ry," Brendon nudges him jokingly.

"What can I say, those hippies really get me," he replies dreamily. Brendon snorts and they walk inside, a bell on the door announcing their arrival.

The pawn shop is stacked to the brim with things Brendon can only deem _stuff_. Tape decks, a vintage potato gun, a case of wedding rings, guitars, a giant rack of rifles, and so much more _stuff_. Brendon doesn't see a single sliver of wall showing through all of the knick-knacks piled high. 

What catches Brendon's eye is the display case of Vegas memorabilia, post cards, ancient half-used cigars with small cards saying which celebrities smoked them, and champagne bottles atop green felt. 

Ryan is still enthralled by the hippie clothes. Brendon rolls his eyes.

"Hello, gentlemen. Looking to pawn, sell, or buy?" a man greets them from behind the glass counter.

"Are you Patrick?" 

"Yes, and you are?" 

"I'm Detective Brendon Urie and this is Detective Ryan Ross. We have a few questions we'd like to ask you."

 

~

 

Patrick is short. Short and nice. Brendon can't really say much else about his personality. He's pretty plain. He has large glasses atop his small nose and a hoodie that doesn't make him seem too much like the boss of a store. His ripped jeans and ratty Converse don't really help either. He has a trucker hat with some catchy phrase about going vegan on it, his eyes are piercing, and he has the lips of a sinner. Pete must be lucky, Brendon thinks absentmindedly. 

"Did you know Greta Salpeter at all?" Ryan asks, already scratching away at his notepad with a worn-down pencil.

"One of my two employees, Jon, would talk about her a lot, but I can't say that I did. I'm judging from your use of past tense that she's dead, isn't she?" Patrick speaks with a bit of a deadpan that Brendon resents a little, wondering how he can just gloss over something like death.

"She was murdered," Ryan says and Patrick shakes his head.

"The world is so corrupt," he mutters, "Well, how can I help you, detectives?"

"We would actually like to ask you about something you've sold or pawned recently."

"I have a record of all pawns but no sales, sir." 

"We believe it was sold," Ryan says, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"Well I'd be happy to check my footage if you have a day in which it was purchased."

Ryan looks at Brendon questioningly. He shrugs.

"Do you have a trash can with any receipts that we could dig through, maybe?" Brendon asks, at a loss for other options.

"Sorry, I took all the trash out this morning. If anyone threw out their receipt, it's gone now."

Ryan sighed, flipping his notepad closed and slipping his pencil through the spiral.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of any help, gentlemen. Is there anything else that I can do for you?" Patrick asked.

"Well, has anyone suspicious walked into the store and bought anything that you can remember?" Brendon tries.

"This is Vegas."

"Fair enough. How about anyone that acted like they're hiding something? Y'know, jumpy, nervous, the like?"

"Again, sir, this is Vegas."

"I see your point. Anyone worthy of going on the record?"

"Just my second employee, Joe. I'm firing him the second he walks into the store for his next shift. I caught him trying to steal a Captain America action figure the other day. He might've stolen your camera, too. He was real close with Jon, but they got in a fight the other day, so they're not talking anymore, Jon might have something to say about it."

"Can we have Joe's address?" Ryan asks, a bit of excitement in his voice. His spiral notebook is open and his pencil in hand before Brendon can even blink.

One address and tweed vest purchase later, Brendon and Ryan find themselves at the nearest diner munching burgers and discussing.

"Okay, what on Earth could be Joe's motive?" Brendon says with a mouth full of burger.

"Well for one thing, you can talk after you swallow, but it could be that he was excluded from the group. Think about it; one of Jon's closest friends, and not a single person has mentioned him?"

Brendon nods. "But that could be because of the fight. No one wanted anything to do with him anymore."

"True," Ryan agrees, "But I still think it's odd that there hasn't been a mention of him. You know, the fight could've been the trigger to Joe snapping and committing these crimes."

"You could be right." Brendon waves down the waitress, asking for a soda refill. 

"Even more likely is that it was both." Ryan takes a bite of his burger, swallowing before continuing— _show off_. "Think about it; Joe is separate from this group, they most likely dislike him and don't want him to be there, Jon and him get in a fight, and what better revenge than offing everyone who wouldn't let him in?"

"Well, I can think of many constructive ways to get revenge that aren't murdering, but I see your point."

Ryan laughs, his hair falling into his face. Without thinking, Brendon brushes it from his eyes. Halfway through the motion, Brendon realizes what he's doing and his eyes widen.

"Uh, sorry," he says, dropping his hand quickly and gluing his eyes to his burger.

Ryan lets out a softer laugh, "It's okay."

Brendon's eyes dart up and catch Ryan's warm smile.

"So what's our plan of action, Bren?"

"Well," Brendon says while mentally screaming at the cute nickname, "I definitely want to make sure we know what we're doing. Frank died because of our eagerness to catch the killer. If we do that again, Joe will probably be on our list of victims as well."

"Right. So do you want to talk to Jon first, then?"

"I think we should sleep on it before we do anything." Brendon stifles a yawn behind his sleeve.

"Good idea," Ryan laughs. His smile makes his eyes crinkle, Brendon thinks absentmindedly.

 

~

 

Brendon doesn't know who decided that he and Ryan would sleep in the same bed that night, but he decides if he ever finds out, he'll kiss the ground they walk on 'til kingdom come. 

The smell of Ryan's skin floods his lungs the moment he regains consciousness, and the feeling of bony fingers weakly gripping his hipbone makes his stomach flutter.

Ryan mumbles something in his sleep, snuggling closer to Brendon. Brendon could die right then and there. 

Reluctantly, Brendon shakes Ryan awake.

"Huh? Oh—Brendon," Ryan murmurs in a daze, "Good morning." A sleepy smile spreads across his face, and Brendon melts.

"Good morning. You sleep enough?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Ryan climbs out of the bed, stretching. The quiet snaps of Ryan's joints popping fill Brendon's ears, the sound of Ryan's footsteps as he drifts into the bathroom, the faucet running, an absentminded melody of the morning as Brendon stares dreamily at the ceiling. The sound of the shower pulls Brendon's attention, and he can't help but think about the fact that Ryan isn't wearing any clothes right this instant. Brendon mentally slaps himself.

_Jesus, Bren._

After Ryan's done, Brendon hops in the shower and gives himself a minute under the water to sort his thoughts. His left eye stings from getting shampoo in it, but other than that, he's serene. 

If Brendon listens hard enough, he can hear Ryan humming and if he listens even harder, he can hear an occasional clatter or rumble from the hallway outside the hotel room.

Brendon's mind drifts to the case, not letting himself think about it enough to ruin his mood. He absentmindedly starts singing some Modest Mouse song that's been stuck in his head the past few days. He leaves the bathroom in his towel still humming along to the melody. 

Brendon is proud to admit he does a good job not thinking about the fact that Ryan is in the same room as him while he is only in a towel. In fact, he does so good that he manages to only speedwalk to his clothes and back to the bathroom as opposed to his original impulse to sprint. Ryan's not even looking up, he's texting on his Blackberry from the bed, but still. Honestly, Brendon isn't sure when he came to the conclusion that he was so totally fucking crushing on Ryan, but he's not questioning it because he's _so effortlessly cool and oh my fucking god he's so hot_. Brendon's the kind to take things as they come, so he doesn't really have a problem with this development. The problem lies with the fact that Brendon has to be around Ryan. All. The. Time.

_Well. Let's see how this turns out._

Once Brendon is all dolled up for the day, hair pristine, shirt tucked, he leaves the bathroom. Ryan turned on the clock radio at some point, and Sweet Child of Mine tinnily pierces the air. Brendon flashes Ryan a grin, and plops down on the bed next to him. Folding his arms behind his head, he leans back and enjoys the feeling of the sun on his skin through the window. Ah, mornings.

After some time, Ryan breaks the moment to gently nudge Brendon. 

"Breakfast? I know a good place."

Brendon nods with a sloppy grin, eyes still closed.

 

~

 

The diner is abustle with the breakfast rush, the sound of silverware clinking and patrons conversing filling the air. Brendon grins happily around his fork as he takes another bite of pancake. 

"Man, these pancakes are better than my mother's. How'd you find this place?" Brendon shovels another chunk of pancake down his throat. 

"Used to come here all the time with my dad. Was a tradition to get blueberry pancakes every Sunday. I'm glad you like it here," Ryan gives a small smile. Brendon can't help but note Ryan's pancakes are strawberry.

"More coffee, you two?" their waitress asks from a table or two over, and Brendon nods vehemently.

"So," Ryan starts, "Our course of action."

"Right. Honestly Ry, I think it's Joe. We pull him in for questioning; if it's him, we got our guy, if it's not him, then he'll probably have some info anyway."

Ryan looks thoughtful. "Good point. Let's visit Joe Trohman, then." Ryan finishes off his pancakes and after a few minutes of small chatter about the Modest Mouse song Brendon was singing in the shower, the waitress comes back with a pot of coffee and an awkward expression.

"Hey, so, here's your coffee, and a note that someone asked me to give you." She tosses a folded piece of what looks like index card onto the table and pours their coffee.

"Guess I can cross being a middle man in setting up a threesome off my list of things that have happened as a waitress." She wanders away to pour more coffee.

Brendon and Ryan share a look, because _okay what_ , before Brendon hesitantly grabs the paper. 

It smells of Sharpie, and Brendon's nose is correct because there's a dark inky scrawl on the square of what Brendon now realizes is a business card.

_You sure that's the right answer?_

Brendon barely holds down his pancakes as he tosses the card to Ryan and waves down the waitress.

"Sorry, uh, who gave you that note?" Brendon can pinpoint the moment the note registers for Ryan because his hand flies up to cover his mouth, the pancakes apparently giving him a hard time too. While Brendon has his attention on the waitress, he can see Ryan's eyes darting around the diner because this note could only mean one thing. He's in the diner with us.

_Fuck._

"Uh, actually, he told me not to tell you, said you could figure it out yourselves. What, did he not leave his number?" the waitress asks in disbelief.

Brendon shakes his head, mentally raising an eyebrow at this girl's intense need to check being a middle man in setting up a threesome off her list of things that have happened as a waitress. He hurriedly reaches for his badge in his pocket.

"I actually kinda need to know who gave it to you," he says as the officialism of the badge dazzles her.

"Uh, he's right over there... wait, what the fuck." The chair the waitress points to is empty. "Fuck! That asshole didn't pay for his Belgian waffles!"

The waitress doesn't even finish her sentence before Brendon and Ryan are flying out of the booth and Brendon is tossing a fifty dollar bill on the table. That about covers it, he hurriedly reasons as he whips back to get his backpack that he almost forgot in the rush.

"Uh, thanks for the tip!" he hears the waitress call behind them.

The sweltering heat hits them like a punch in the face when they exit the diner, and Brendon is _sure_ he feels the same nerves from Frank's house, the ones that were really the killer watching them from afar. Brendon's head whips around in every direction, trying to find the source of the feeling, but all there is is a crowded parking lot, a drug store, and a strip mall across the street. He scans the cars, but sees no one other than an elderly couple.

" _Damn it_!" he shouts, his fists pounding his sides in anger.

"He was one step ahead again, somehow?" Ryan mutters in confusion. 

"Honestly I wouldn't be surprised if it were just coincidence. Even killers need breakfast." Brendon feels like he could cry in his frustration.

"Then it's his fucking lucky day," Ryan rolls his eyes.

"I can't take this, Ryan! He fucking knows everything _we_ know!" 

"I know, Bren, but we gotta keep going. We gotta try and find this bastard," Ryan's expression changes. "Unless you want them to bring in a replacement for you?"

Brendon looks alarmed. "No! Not what I meant, not what I meant!"

Ryan looks relieved.

"Look, let's just, let's just calm down and regroup. I'll drive us down to the Red Rock Mountains, we can surround ourselves in desert, I can have a smoke, and we'll have time to think. Sound good, Bren?"

Brendon nods, eyes glossy and looking at nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> id like to thank u all for stickin around so long even tho bandom is dead lmao see u soon everyone much love x


	10. Beautiful Sky and Beautiful Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright i havent written more since posting last time but i have kept you guys waiting more than enough and yall deserve thsi chapter  
> if u wanna know what songs i wrote this to: take me somewhere nice by mogwai and wallflower by peacock affect

The sky is breathtaking. The overwhelming heat of the day left a hazy concoction pf purples, pinks, and oranges that swirls neons in Brendon's eyes. The sun is a red disk against the mountains that frame the horizon seen by the lookout point Ryan's Buick is parked on. Brendon can look around in all four directions and see only desert. Brendon can feel himself falling in love with the view with each second.

Without daring to take his eyes off the view, he reaches for the radio knob. "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" sings quietly from the speakers, and Brendon sighs.

"I think we should see Joe."

Ryan nods in the corner of his vision.

"I get that our guy thinks our decision to question him would be a final answer, but still. If our guy is Joe, then that means he's trying to psych us out and we can't let that happen. I think we need to do it."

"What if it's not Joe?"

Brendon sighs. "Yeah, that." There's a beat of silence as Brendon thinks. "Well, how would our case progress at all if we don't? How are we going to solve anything if we don't try to find this guy? If it's not Joe, then god forgive me, that's not our fault! It's the killer's!" Brendon almost lets out a cry of frustration when he realizes the sun is almost gone.

"You're right Bren."

Brendon nods in acknowledegment, calming down.

"We'll figure it out, okay?" Ryan rests a hand on Brendon's shoulder. He nods again, grabbing onto the good feeling in his stomach and holding onto it as he closes his eyes and realizes how this whole thing is insane, but Ryan is here, Ryan's not insane, he's going through the same frustration and he's okay, he's okay. Brendon doesn't know how he can hold himself together so well through all of this.

The sun is long gone, and the stars freckle the sky. Brendon cranes his neck a little to get a better look.

"Wanna get out?" Ryan asks, the raised eyebrow evident in his tone.

"Good idea," Brendon mutters as he opens the door.

The hood of the car is surprisingly cold under his ass, and he realizes it must've been a long time that they've been sitting here for the metal to have cooled down. Brendon's noticed time kinda does that around Ryan, ten hours feels like ten minutes, it never feels like it's been _enough_ time. Ryan is next to him in an instant, cigarette between his fingers. Brendon is mesmerized by the way the smoke dances off the end of it and flutters up from Ryan's lips.

Damn, he needs a smoke.

"Hey, can I have one?"

"I thought you didn't smoke?" Ryan asks, but grabs for one anyway.

"I don't." He leans forward to meet Ryan's light.

"You know," Ryan says absentmindedly, "This moment is real cinematic. We're a movie, Bren."

"How so?" Brendon laughs.

"Well think about it!" Ryan starts to get into it, talking a bit faster, like he's trying to get all the words out while he still knows which ones to say. "We're two detectives with like, the worst case to grace Las Vegas, and we're almost at the climax, getting closer to the end, I can feel it, Bren! I can totally fucking feel it!" Ryan's motioning with each enunciation, smoke breaking up in the air like cobwebs with each wave of his hand. "And here we are, the two protagonists, sitting on this desert lookout with the stars staring down at us like," Ryan pauses, "Like..."

"Angels?"

"Yes, like angels! Like goddamn, motherfucking angels! The stars are staring down at us like angels!" His arms swing out wide, motioning to the sky and letting loose a laugh. "And it's like fate, like a director, a writer, a producer, all intended us to be here! And this is the part..." Ryan trails off, his sentence forgotten. There's a long pause where Ryan stares deeply at a spot somewhere on the dirt road. The feeling in the air shifts and he turns, looking Brendon in the eyes. "This is the part where..." Ryan's eyes dart to the view, then back to Brendon. "Where the seemingly put-together-24/7, eloquent detective realizes he's head over heels for the bubbly and positive detective and has been this entire time and hadn't realized it, and that he's really, hopelessly frazzled over it."

Brendon's eyes widen. "Ry—"

"Don't say it, I know." The light in his eyes dies down and he turns away. "I get it, I really do. This has no accumulation, no reasoning behind it, I get it. I just couldn't keep it in right now."

Brendon's eyes widen, scrambling to find his words. "This is the part where the, the kinda dumb detective realizes he might be losing his chance to have the other one, the other, fuck I can't keep up the talking in third person, _I like you too_."

Ryan's head whips around and there's a questioning look in his eye. Brendon nods with a certain hopelessness. There's a moment where Brendon thinks Ryan looks like he's about to run away, but it shifts.

"Please kiss me."

Brendon doesn't need to be told twice.

Even though Brendon closes the space between them quickly, their movements are slow and frankly, it's a tender moment. Ryan's lips are chapped and scratchy against Brendon's soft ones. They fit together perfectly, but Ryan's bangs tickle Brendon's forehead and that's a little distracting. The fact that Ryan is kissing him wins his attention in the end. Brendon clutches at Ryan's shirt, twisting it in his fist to pull him closer, as close as possible. Ryan's hand threads in the hair at the nape of Brendon's neck, and Brendon wishes this moment would never end.

But alas, it once again feels like it hasn't been enough time and they're breaking apart slowly, as if they both don't want to stop, but the moment is passing like the moon over the expanse of the sky and it's best not to drag out things as fragile as a first kiss.

Brendon can feel the stars spinning in his eyes, feel the way his hands are not-quite-but-almost-shaking, feel the tingling in his lips, and his fingers absentmindedly reach up and touch them with his free hand. Oh yeah, Brendon forgot about his cigarette. It's almost down to the filter, so he takes another drag before tossing it on the ground in front of the car.

Ryan's hair is a little mussed in the front, and he fixes it as he does the same with his cigarette. He pulls out two more from the pack in his pocket, and Brendon gratefully takes the one held out to him. There's a dry breeze starting as the night sets in, and Brendon can see the twinkle of the lighter in Ryan's eyes as he lights up for him and Brendon.

Brendon takes in the view. Ryan's hair is blowing gently in the breeze and he's looking out at the desert like it holds the answers of the universe and he's begging for a hint. Drag, blow. The smoke weaves its way into the dark grey-blue of the sky, blending in after a few fleeting moments.

Drag, blow.

Brendon wants to kiss him again. But he knows that this moment is fragile and doing so would break it.

Instead, he rests his free hand on Ryan's, and takes a long drag.

~

That night there's no discussion, a silent agreement that had been decided by beings above them eons ago, just two bodies moving as one onto the same bed. The moon casts a delicate glow to the room and its tacky tourist furniture, just enough light to see each other in front of their faces. Ryan's doe eyes bore into Brendon's, as if trying to learn every detail of his irises, every minute shift in size of his pupils. The feeling sends a warm thrill into his chest, and Brendon realizes just how much he's wanted Ryan close.

He moves his head to rest on Ryan's shoulder, and quickly falls asleep.

~

Joe Trohman's house is an apartment situated behind an In-N-Out, the tenant parking lot a sliver of grass away from the drive-thru. Brendon makes a mental note to ask Ryan if he wants a bite when they leave.

The fluorescent light of the entryway buzzes and pops, flickering every few seconds and washing the stairway with its stale light. Before they ascend the flight, Brendon grabs Ryan's arm.

"What if he's..." Although unsaid, the word hangs in the air.

"He's in there."

Brendon notices Ryan doesn't say alive.

When they reach the door, the air catches in Brendon's throat.

A bright pink sticky note is slapped haphazardly on the door, with more Sharpie scrawl.

"Come on in boys, I've got a show for you."

Brendon reflexively takes a step back and his stomach drops when his foot catches no ground. He grabs the banister hastily, righting himself at the top of the stairs.

"Fucking—Fuck! _Fuck_!" Ryan smacks the wall with the heels of his hands repeatedly, leaning his forehead against it to catch his breath when he's done.

"I don't wanna go in," Brendon murmurs.

"We _have_ to!" Ryan shouts angrily, but Brendon knows the fury isn't directed at him, but rather the monster who committed the gruesome acts they both know lie behind the door.

"It's unlocked," Ryan says absentmindedly as he pushes the door open.

Brendon doesn't want to earn himself a reputation for vomiting at crime scenes, but this might constitute the violent tossing of his lunch.

Joe Trohman's head sits on the coffee table.

Brendon steps in uneasily, the smell of blood burning his nostrils. There's a trail of it leading into the living room, up to Joe's severed head. The curly hair that drapes his face is matted and stained red, some blood still dripping from it down to the floor. There's a remote shoved into Joe's mouth, propping his jaw open and leaning his skull back like a sick Pez dispenser. His blue eyes are glassy, but look striking all the same. Brendon can't help but think Joe has an extremely pretty face, for lack of a better word— _pretty_. The blood that has traveled in streams down his face, tiny red waterfalls of death, gets in the way of the adjective, though.

Brendon notices the TV for the first time in the reflection of Joe's eyes. He turns around to see what's on. It's a vintage episode of The Price Is Right, bright colors and dollar signs and dings of a bell. It goes to commercial, a yogurt to help digestion and when that's over a blanket with arms— _big fucking deal_ —and when his eyes finally drift from the screen, Brendon notices another sticky note on the wall slightly above it.

'TV rots your brain'

Brendon can't help but roll his eyes. While he should probably be worried at the evident desensitization to these crimes, he pays his reaction no mind as he mutters, "It's not even magic related this time. Losing your touch, guy."

Ryan's footsteps echo into Brendon's thoughts, the sound of his hipster shoes clacking to the left of him. He appears from around the corner—Brendon not even noticing Ryan had even ventured deeper into this hell in the first place—and clears his throat.

"Um, I. I found the rest of Joe." He disappears back around the corner.

Brendon goes into autopilot and follows him, mentally steeling himself to see Joe's body. He wonders if Joe is lanky, tall, short, chubby, ripped as all hell, a bad taste forming in his mouth the more he thinks about it.

Ryan leads him into the bathroom, pushing open the door and _god_ , the smell of blood is even stronger in here. This detail was probably due to the significantly greater amount of blood splattered in the room.

Red is everywhere, covering the tile floor, bathmat, wall, shower curtain, and judging from the dark shape behind the cloudy vinyl, the rest of Joe lied behind it.

Ryan eyes Brendon, who nods the go-ahead to pull back the curtain.

It's mundane in comparison to the living room, simply a body without a head. No theatrics. Brendon breathes a sigh of relief.

"So this isn't part of the show. Just disposal," Ryan notes. Brendon nods his agreement, but his eyes catch something after a moment.

"Wait, maybe not," he says as he kneels down— _squelch_ —and reaches to Joe's hand, lifting it and uncurling the fingers.

A piece of rolled-up paper falls onto Joe's chest, the pristine white starting to soak up the red the second it lands.

Brendon hastily picks it up, worrying the note to be ink.

He unfolds it slowly, wondering what could possibly be thrown at them now, and it's—well, it's a picture printed onto paper, the blood splotching the image in a few places.

It's a vignetted view of a messy bed and two figures, a dark and blurry frame suggesting the photo was taken from inside a closet.

It's hard to tell but it's unmistakably Joe, naked and in bed with Pete, also naked.

They're intertwined--by both bodies and tongues--so thankfully the picture isn't revealing. Brendon can't help but think it's a different kind of revealing, though.

"Isn't Pete with-"

"Yeah."

"We should, we should tell him." Brendon admires Ryan's ability to form coherent sentences right now.

"Should we?" Ryan asks after a heavy silence.

Brendon thinks, and settles on a shrug.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive hit a snag in how to make one thing work out in writing so i think i may just scrap it to make sure i dont r e ally hit a standstill but anyway school starts tomorrow, im a senior yay! and im moving this coming month!!! so im Quite Hype  
> wish me luck with all that but im mentioning it because there will naturally be an even slower flow than usual due to the fact that i wonrt have all the time in the world to write :// oh well i shall see you beautiful people next chapter  
> SIDE NOTE the reviews you all have been leaving are RIDICULOUSLY encouraging and the only reason i even posted today i couldnt keep u sweethearts waiting!!!!!!! anyways i will see u soon ily guys -vic


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